Starbird Murphy and the World Outside (13 page)

 11 

T
he next dawn brought a strange, new experience. Instead of a rooster crowing, I woke up to the sound of an alarm clock.

“Turn it off,” Io muttered, before rolling over with a pillow on her head.

After some fumbling, I found the switch that made the horrible buzzing sound stop. It was five thirty in the morning and the sun had not yet popped its forehead over the mountains. In my sleepy daze, I reached for my old jeans and wool sweater, and then I remembered: I had new clothes, because I had a new life. I dressed in the dark and met V in the foyer. She was holding out a travel mug to me.

“Coffee,” she said in a gravelly voice, handing off the cup. Then she added, “Look at you.”

Io had prepped my wardrobe the night before. I was wearing black pants that were a little too big in the hips and waist, a white button-up shirt that was a little too small across my shoulders, and a blue cardigan that had tiny flower patches to hide spots where holes had been mended. Io didn't have any shoes that fit me, though, so on my feet were the same muddy farm boots I'd shown up wearing.

Europa came out of the kitchen holding her own mug and said, “Ephraim's watching the kids. Let's go.”

 
 

It was a twenty-minute walk from Beacon House to the restaurant, and V talked for fifteen of them. “I'll give Starbird the two-tops in the windows after noon so she can practice on tables. Europa, you take the booths, and I'll take the four-top rounds, plus the two-tops in the morning. Starbird can bus so she gets used to carrying trays. I hope Felicia folded napkins before she left yesterday, because we're going to be in the weeds all morning.”

“Wild guess says Felicia didn't fold napkins,” said Europa.

“She serves a necessary purpose,” said V.

“You get a stolen identity and we get a non-Believer serving our food,” said Europa.

I tracked their conversation for a while, but there was so much I didn't understand, I finally tuned out and focused on the scenery, passing the travel mug of coffee back and forth with V.

I had seen suburban neighborhoods on trips to Bellingham, but I was caught off guard by the amount of pavement in Seattle. The roads with their dark asphalt were one thing, and the sidewalks the color of cream were another, but the parking lots were expansive. How many trees were cut down to make all this emptiness?

I couldn't stop staring at the web of wires crosshatching the sky above us. Near the intersection there was a bare, sanded tree trunk planted in the concrete, and attached to it near the top was a cross arm, making a giant letter
T
. About thirty thick, rubber-coated wires met there going in all directions, north–south and east–west. Those wires continued as far down the street as I could see, periodically dotted with black birds. Smaller wires connected the larger ones to the houses and businesses on the street. One of them ran right above a sign that said
FREE FAMILY CAFÉ
. It hung from a brick building next to a large vacant lot where grasses fought weeds for control.

“And so it begins,” said V, turning the handle and opening the door.

 
 

“Does Felicia know how to use a rag?” were the first words we heard in the café.

“Good morning, Paul,” said V.

Immediately to our left was an
L
-shaped counter lined with stools that surrounded the open kitchen. A tall boy with dark hair who looked like an older, meatier version of Devin, and turned out to be Devin's older brother, Paul, was wiping the surface. Devin, aka Skinny Cook, had his back to us, scraping the surface of the grill with a metal tool. He was moving back and forth in a jerky dance move. A third guy, muscular with short blond hair, came through the swinging door holding a box full of apples. “Behind you,” he said to Devin, who didn't move but continued his jerky dance until he bumped into the blond boy.

“Sorry, Sun.” Devin yanked a cord from his ear, and I could hear faraway music.

“Watch it,” the blond guy said.

“Half hour till open!” V yelled as I followed her across the floor, through a beaded curtain and into the tiny office. “Let's start your crash course in carrying a tray.”